


Healing Soak

by AmericanGuilt



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Amelia needs to get her shit together, Demons, Gen, Healing, Love is Mentioned, Minor Injuries, Potions, Spells & Enchantments, Witches, girl talk, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 10:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmericanGuilt/pseuds/AmericanGuilt
Summary: You should never turn your back when fighting against demons. That was a lesson she learned the hard way.





	Healing Soak

Cool blue eyes stared meticulously at the large clawfoot bathtub, closely observing the waves of heat that arose from the warm water within. The faint, barley discernably clouds of condensation carefully floated upwards to the bathroom’s ceiling where they inevitably dissipated into nothingness, only for the process to be repeated all over again.

The temperature of the water offered warmth and comfort, but the contents _within_ the liquid did not. The clear water of the tub had been tainted to a color of murky green, and a handful of tiny flower bulbs rested at the tub’s bottom whilst some floated evenly at the surface. The foul stench of chamomile oil and lavender clung to the liquid of the bath, contaminating the air of the restroom and revealing what lurked in the water’s depths.

Countless candles dimly lit the darkened room, casting a soft glow on the teal blue walls. Each of the wax candles varied in shape and size, but all were nearly melted and wore the same dull tan color. The lighting itself was meant to be soothing, a way to ensure peace, but Amelia felt nothing but hesitance and unwillingness as she continued to watch the waves of heat steadily roll off the water.

She stood nude before the clawfoot tub, her body hastily receiving a chill due to the exposure, but her feet remained planted on the cool tiled flooring. The small waves of heat warmed her skin slightly, but the fresh blood that slipped over her fair skin is what ultimately kept her warm. It dripped down her exposed flesh, slithering like a snake to the floor in drops. The crimson liquid trickled off her fingers and made a soft drip each time it would land around her bare feet.

Most of the blood was hers – the substance oozed from her open gashes – but some of it was not. Amelia had difficult telling whose blood was whose. It all looked the same.

The female witch bit her bottom lip and gradually pried her eyes away from the murky waters to glance down at her beaten body. For a moment, she dumbly stared at the large wound that bled relentlessly on her right calf – this was the main cause for the rapidly forming pool of blood at her feet. That would hurt, she thought to herself, foreseeing her leg being submerged in the healing water and sensing the aching pain that was sure to follow.

Her hand lifted to her neck, carefully tracing her skin until she found another stinging injury. It was a smaller cut just blow her jugular and slightly over her clavicle. Amelia hissed through clenched teeth upon touching the slim injury; the cut was deep, and it hurt like hell. Amelia grunted, knowing that would sting terribly under the spelled water, but she knew it would be nothing compared to the pain that would come to her ribs.

The red-haired witch had found it difficult to breathe after her accident, her ribs ached in agony every time she inhaled to sharply. Amelia knew there was internal damage, and when her digits roamed down beneath her breasts to feel uneven and protruding bones from under her skin, she realized a few of her ribs had been fractured (or possibly even shattered).

Amelia held back a scoff, growing angry with herself. _How could she have been so careless?_ It had been years since she had broken a rib – she had broken one of her left ribs when she was sixteen – and that was only because she had failed to observe her surroundings.

This particular job was supposed to be quick and easy; it was not the first time Amelia had fought a den of demons. She had taken the job hastily, thinking she could get a hefty paycheck without putting in any hard effort. Sadly though, Amelia had both miscalculated and she had grown too cocky for her own good.

The first handful of demons in the den had been easy to dispose of, but as Amelia walked further into the depths of the den (disguised as an abandoned barn), the more issues she came across. The demons she fought were intelligent and crafty and quick, matching even her inhuman speed. And Amelia, stupid as she was, walked into _their_ territory ready to receive her large payment.

The horde of demons had pounced on her all at once, the ten monsters aimed to kill.

Amelia had handled herself well in the beginning, but when the fight came down to the last two demons, her arrogance had peaked, and the demon’s anger had flared. The two creatures, being an intelligent breed of Shadow Demons, had blindsided her as if she were a mere unsuspecting fool.

As she had toyed with one of the remaining demons, the other (whom she had assumed was dead) had darted and swiped its massive palm at her, sending the witch flying through the barn’s decaying walls. The impact was enough to break a few of her ribs, and the splintered wood had sliced through her skin like paper being cleanly cut.

It seemed arrogance during a fight didn’t suit her as well as it did Dante.

And, needless to say, Amelia handled the confrontation a little more seriously from that point on.

But it wasn’t until she arrived home to her younger sister, Adeline, that she realized just how bad she looked. The younger Valdren witch was sent into a frenzy at the sight of Amelia beaten and bloodied and had instantly rushed to her side. _“What happened?”_ She had asked, her short figure barely reaching Amelia’s shoulder as she examined the open wounds. Adeline had practically stripped Amelia herself, wanting to see if there was any other damage. _“I swear, you have the worst luck.”_ Adeline had said, shaking her head while she ran her hand through the tub’s water, saying a quiet spell under her breath. The younger girl had offered to help Amelia clean her injuries with the healing water, but Amelia had refused, knowing Adeline only wanted to make sure Amelia actually took the time to soak in the water.

But now, as Amelia allowed her nostrils to sting with the smell of chamomile oil and lavender, she tried to think of a reason avoid going into the clawfoot tub before her. The red-haired witch knew what would come after emerging herself in the murky green liquid, but she also knew that if she remained in her current condition and left her wounds untreated, she would defiantly be in worse shape.

Amelia released a quiet huff and felt a pang in her side. Her fingers continued to travel over the uneven skin, feeling the hardness of fractured bones beneath. Her mind was beginning to grow a bit disoriented as blood continued to flow rapidly from such large wounds, and she felt as if she were about to faint from dizziness.

“Oh, hell.” She muttered to herself, shaking her head to clear the faintness.

Luckily, after running out of both time and options, Amelia gradually lifted her right leg into the tub. Her foot touched the warm water, and it felt like the liquid was luring her in; the temperature of the bath feel pleasant against her marred skin. And gradually, inch by inch, she finally lowered her injured calf in.

Amelia winced softly, her countenance briefly contorting to a look of pain as the spelled water seeped into her exposed cut. The sudden sting made her leg jolt in shock, but she continued, trying to submerge her limb as quickly as possible. The witch released a pained groan before swinging her other leg in the tub; her ribs had jabbed her side painfully – any rotating movement felt like fire.

Then, with a great amount of hesitance, Amelia quickly submerged herself in the healing water, only to release another moan of discomfort. The warm water swished audibly when her body became enclosed in the tub, and Amelia felt as if dozens of small needles had begun to prick at her exposed figure. Her muscles coiled in agony at the sudden impact when her back finally touched the end of the clawfoot tub. Amelia inhaled deeply through her nose, attempting to contain the pained noises she made – the last thing she needed was her sister barging in because she whimpered too loudly.

The witch collected her unruly red hair and threw it over her left shoulder, leaving her cut clavicle exposed to the water, and she felt the chamomile oil begin to work its numbing magic. Small lavender buds drifted near Amelia’s face after she lowered her body to keep only her nose and eyes uncovered; she eyed the small bulbs of the flower, watching as they would progressively become soaked with water, only to sink to the bottom of the tub. The elder Valdren witch moved her arm through the foggy water to catch one of the plummeting flowers, feeling the light weight of the plant softly caress the palm of her open hand. Amelia toyed with the lavender bud, and the flower danced around each of her fingers when the water rustled around it.

Amelia exhaled carefully, the pain in her ribs only becoming more prominent with the spelled water embraced them, and her eyes lazily drifted away from the sinking lavender bud. Two sky blue eyes combed over the bathroom, taking in every detail as if she had never seen the area before. _Had that crack in the ceiling always been there? Why was there such a good view of the stars from such a small bathroom window? How long had it been since she had last had a cigarette? Damn, she really needs to fix that crack in the ceiling, it could cause leaks. Was the shower’s water pressure still working properly?_

The witch ran a hand over her face in irritation; she was already growing bored, and she was supposed to soak in the water for _at least_ two hours.

Her expression soured at the thought.

_She really did have the worst luck._

* * *

After sitting in a tub of spelling healing water for nearly three hours, Amelia had less touble breathing and her ribs had seemingly mended themselves back to the correct places. Truthfully, was amazing what a few herbs and a small amount of magic can do to the body.

Nevertheless, as Amelia propped her injured leg on her bed, she couldn’t help but grow even angrier with herself.

She had been so careless, and now she smelled of chamomile – she _loathed_ the scent of chamomile – and there were countless buds of lavender caught between the thick strands of her hair. Sure, she was grateful for magic and its ability to heal her so quickly, but why chamomile? Amelia thought herb was so vile. And to make matters even worse, the witch couldn’t wash the terrible scent off until tomorrow (the longer the musk stayed on her, the quicker she would heal).

Amelia bit her bottom lip and toyed with the end of a cloth bandage, unrolling the fabric from its tight coil. She stretched the fabric out slightly and laid the roll flat on her bed before reaching to pluck a large glass jar of skin-mending scrub off her nightstand. Amelia readjusted her wounded leg, bending it upwards so she could work on her calf. She brought the potion to her lap and pulled the large cork free, allowing the witch access to yet another one of her healing methods.

The witch distinguished the smell of yarrow and spelled clay after she placed the cork aside and, like the healing water she had soaked in, the sticky scrub was the shade of deep green. Amelia lowered her hand into the glass jar and scooped up the potion with just her index and middle finger before moving to place the odd remedy on her wound.

The scrub had a texture similar to petroleum jelly – thick and pasty – and it clung to Amelia’s fingers like glue. However, she had no visible struggle with getting the potion off her; she had completed this same treatment multiple times prior. So, when the odd spelled scrub touched her wound’s fragile scab, Amelia smeared the distasteful potion without hardly any effort. She lightly skimmed her digits over the injury and felt a small pang of pain as she did so, but that did not deter her.

Amelia hastily spread the skin-mending scrub over and around the skin of her leg’s wound, watching the green medicine mask the flaring redness of her irritated skin, only to repeat the same process on the cut just below her neck. She pulled one of the thin straps of her tank-top down and got to work. Amelia exhaled audibly, shaking her head after she corked the potion and reached for the bandage resting by her side. The witch quickly wrapped her leg in the bandage and tied it tight, preventing any air from getting past the cloth – it would heal faster that way.

It was ridiculous, really; she was a little _too_ good at applying and caring for injuries. Amelia (from years of experience) had learned the ins and outs of healing tonics. In fact, it was one of the few potions she was actually skilled at making. The elder Valdren girl couldn’t make a simple good luck potion, but she could prepare a quality remedial tonic.

Amelia rolled her eyes, thinking of how disappointed her mother would be with her witchcraft abilities. But in her defense, she had never been gifted when it came to preforming complicated spells. That was something Adeline was better suited for. Amelia on the other hand, was much better in the field, hunting and killing the evil creatures that went bump in the night. Now that, was something her _father_ would be pleased with.

Closing her blue eyes, Amelia released another huff of breath before gracelessly flopping herself on her bed. The witch stretched her sore limbs and cozied into the comfort of soft blankets, feeling the smoothness under her fingertips.

Amelia, whose body yearned for rest, found it difficult for her mind to settle so she could sleep. Her thoughts were going wild since she had a lot of time to think in her solitude, and all she could do was just that – think. She thought about her sister, wondering if Adeline was secretly frustrated with her. Amelia wouldn’t blame her; she was always getting herself into some sort of trouble, and she had no doubt that Adeline was more than upset by this.

Sighing, Amelia threw an arm over her eyes, only adding to the darkness behind her eyelids. “Fuck.” She muttered, preparing to apologize to her sister _again_ – it wasn’t the first time she had.

However, before the witch could pull herself off her bed, three audible knocks sounded from her bedroom door. Amelia groaned in annoyance, but didn’t budge. Adeline never knocked, meaning this was someone else, and Amelia had no desire to deal with other people at the moment.

Nevertheless, as if the stranger sensed her irritation, the door was swung open quickly. The hinges squeaked in protest as a familiar (and entirely unwelcome) aura seeped into Amelia’s room. Amelia cracked a single eyelid open, moving her arm up slightly so she could catch a glance at the intruding stranger. And, unsurprisingly, Amelia was greeted by a light grey aura and an amused blue-eyed stare.

“You look like hell.” Said the woman, drinking in Amelia’s pitiful appearance before she gradually strode towards the witch. “Oh,” The woman said in a teasing tone when she reached Amelia’s side. “And you stink too.”

An audible string of curse words left Amelia’s lips before she addressed the demoness beside her outstretched figure. “Trish,” She eventually grumbled out. “I know I fucking smell, I don’t need you to remind me.” The witch said, throwing her arm to her side to give the intruding woman a pointed glare. “But thank you for pointing it out.” She added, observing Trish’s ever-growing smirk.

“Well, someone’s grumpy.” The woman spoke as if she were insulted – she wasn’t. “Hey, look on the bright side, at least you have that hot mess look going for you.” She offered, gracefully slipping to the other end of Amelia’s bed. Trish’s heeled boots clicked on the hardwood floor whenever she moved, and Amelia found herself quickly growing irritated by the sound. But, when the demoness threw herself on the bed beside her, Amelia couldn’t help but wonder how Trish managed to catch her in such a shitty state. The two didn’t have anything planned, so why was she here?

“What do you want, Trish?” Amelia asked, turning her body under the covers so she could meet the other woman’s entertained expression. Amelia traced her features with a lazy gaze, scanning the arch in her brows and the gleam of her eyes, trying to find some sort of motive. But it was then that the Valdren girl realized that Trish seemly glowed; both her aura and skin offered an odd radiance – she must have killed recently.

It was a strange thing to notice, but it seemed that each time the demoness slew a foe, she seemed to shine. It was a look that Amelia was all too familiar with, having seen it on Dante and Lady on several other occasions – the appearance of satisfaction and victory and fulfillment.

Amelia often wondered if she ever held that look.

“I wanted to see if you were still in one piece.” Trish said after a brief pause, her lips quirking to form an even line.

Amelia groaned, rolling her eyes before lifting her body to a seated position. Her healing ribs ached in protest, making Amelia hold back a wince. “So, you mean Adeline called you? That’s why you’re here, right?” She questioned, moving her figure towards the center of the bed with her legs flat. The grey sheets ruffled under her movements, but Trish didn’t seem phased.

The demoness hummed, lifting her body to mimic Amelia’s position. She did answer at first, debating on whether she should speak the truth, knowing that the witch would most likely be upset. So, instead, Trish reached to the other girl’s hair – she had a strange fascination with the coppery color of Amelia’s curls – and she ran a hand through it. “Is this lavender?” Trish enquired, her expression seemed puzzled when she pulled a flower blub from Amelia’s thick hair. The demoness lifted the purple blub closer to her face and inspected it before giving it a quick sniff. “Leah, why do you have lavender bulbs in your hair? I swear, even after knowing you for a few years, your herbal remedies still confuse the hell out of me.”

Amelia gave Trish an even stare and pushed the lavender away from her face. “Quit dodging my question.” She grumbled. “Did Addie call you, or did you suddenly retain a sense that lets you know when I’ve gotten my ass kicked?”

Trish shrugged, reaching over to Amelia’s hair once more. The blonde woman carefully ran a hand through thick curls and plucked more blubs from her unruly red hair. “Well, she didn’t exactly call _me_.” Said Trish, starting a small lavender bulb pile on the sheets of Amelia’s bed. “Adeline got ahold of Dante first, but he was caught up in a job. So, he asked me to come check up on you.”

The witch’s eyes widened, and she hastily pulled away from the other woman’s hand. _“What?”_ She asked, hoping she had heard the information wrong. “You have got to be kidding me. She told _him_?”

The other woman merely gave the witch a curt nod before hoping off Amelia’s bed to walk to her vanity on the other end of the bedroom. She rummaged through the three small drawers, finding Amelia’s brush and a single green hair tie. “I knew you would be pissy about it. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” Trish said coolly.

Amelia threw her arms up in exasperation, causing some irritation from her ribs but her displeasure had outweighed her pain. “That’s just awesome. Now that damn devil has another thing to hang over my head. Like he doesn’t mess with me enough.” She said, lowering her arms to rub her temples. This news was doing nothing to help Amelia rest. “Oh, I’m going to kill Adeline.”

Trish shook her head and waved the brush towards Amelia’s seated figure. “Don’t take it out on her. She’s such a sweet thing, and she only did it for your benefit.” The demoness spoke, walking back towards the bed to return to Amelia’s tousled hair. “Adeline was worried about you, and she didn’t have many options. She called Dante because she knew he would be able to help if you got worse.”

The witch continued to rub her temples, ignoring the soft tugs that occurred when Trish ran a brush through her messy mane. “Shit.” She whispered, closing her eyes. “I am a terrible sister.”

Trish shook her head and pulled a little harder at a knot in Amelia’s hair. “You are not. Don’t pull the self-pity card on me. I don’t want to hear it.” The demoness said after successfully pulling the brush through the knot. “And if it makes you feel any better, he seemed pretty distraught about your situation.”

Amelia snorted, toying with an abandoned lavender bulb between her fingers. “Oh, please. Dante concerned? He doesn’t give a care about anything, let alone me.” Amelia said, pondering to herself. “Actually, I take that back. The man really loves his pizza.”

The other woman sighed and shook her head in disbelief.

Sure, it _seemed_ Dante didn’t care about anything, but Trish knew better. She recalled how he had spoken to her over the phone, telling her about Amelia’s injury. He had played it off like he didn’t really mind whether Trish went to see Amelia, but after knowing the devil-hunter for years, Trish detected worry in the tone of his voice. It was subtle and undetectable to those who did not know him, but the blonde woman heard it as clear as day. Dante, the half-demon who acted as if everything was simply a joke, cared more for Amelia than he wanted to let on.

And Amelia, the stubborn witch who held up a façade of her own, pretended like she wasn’t phased by Trish’s claim. However, much like Dante, Amelia was easy for her to read. She could see past that somber and careless countenance, seeing the soft glimmer in her eyes when she had mentioned Dante’s interest in her wellbeing.

But, as Trish ran through a brush through the witch’s hair, she knew the two were destined to dance around each other for eternity. Both parties were _terrible_ at expressing their inner emotions, and they were both so damn _stubborn_. It was no wonder that after years of knowing each other, Dante and Amelia could not read the other’s personal feelings. It was almost painful for an outsider to watch.

Nevertheless, Trish said nothing on the matter and pulled the remaining knots and flower bulbs from Amelia’s hair. She worked relentlessly, and it seemed her work was paying off; the witch’s tangled mane had returned to it natural curly state. “You should wear your hair down more often. It looks nice.” She said, assuming Amelia would favor a subject change.

Amelia hummed in acknowledgment. “Funny you say that, I was thinking about cutting it short like Adeline. It’s such a hassle when I work, and gets in my eyes too often.” She said mindlessly, turning to take the hair tie from Trish’s hand.

Pain quickly appeared around Amelia’s healing ribs at her sudden movements, making her wince softly. She had hoped the demoness wouldn’t notice, but with her observing stare, she took note instantly. Amelia watched as the other woman’s eyes flickered down to her torso, eyeing the faint bumps from her gradually healing ribs.

The fractured bones were far better than they were before, but she still had to let the spelled water finish working its magic – the ribs wouldn’t be fully healed until tomorrow – but Trish didn’t know that.

Trish’s grip tightened on the brush’s handle, her gaze scanning over the cut on Amelia’s clavicle and the bandage on her leg. Amelia was good at hiding her pain, Trish would admit, but she was merely a witch. Sure, Amelia had the power of magic on her side to help, but she still healed like a regular human – it was a quality that set witches apart from other supernatural creatures. And that was exactly why Dante sounded so worried over the phone.

The demoness knew she should say something on the matter, or question the witch on how she was feeling. Trish wanted to ask if she could do anything to ease the pain. She wanted to see just what was going on in those hectic thoughts of hers and tell Amelia that she was a fool for disregarding Dante’s genuine concern.

However, Trish knew Amelia would merely brush her off; the witch wasn’t one to talk about her personal issues.

So, instead of addressing any of these topics, Trish asked: “Do you want to get a drink with me?”

A small smirk spread across Amelia’s lips. “I thought you would never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> After a few months of debating on whether I should post this, I finally decided to do so! Also, this is a bit of an introduction to my Orignal Characters, Amelia and Adeline Valdren. 
> 
> If all goes well and I encourage myself to write some more, I plan on making a series to give you more material on both of the witchy sisters. Let me know what you thought, or if I need to improve on anything. :)


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